


To Hear Your Voice

by godtiermeme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deaf Dave, Humanstuck, M/M, Mute Dave, Stabdads, deaf!Dave, mute!dave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[A series of deaf!Dave/John drabbles with one central theme.]</p><p>Dave Strider was separated from Bro years ago, taken into the foster care system, and shipped from state to state. Eventually, he wound up in the care of a somewhat eccentric man named Jack "Noir" Vantas. At the same time, he wound up being the neighbour of a certain "Egbert" family...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

_**As far as you’re concerned, you’ve always lived next door to an odd family. The mother left years ago, leaving behind a rather eccentric father and a son, who, for reasons you’ll never understand, is named “Karkat”.**_

_**The family is known for being loud, bossy, and generally annoying. They allow their home to decay—which, in turn, reduces the value of all the homes around it. Yet, despite complaints, they—or, rather, the stubborn father—refuses to do anything about it. Thus, the sickly grass of the once-pristine lawn has been allowed to grow boundlessly. The tendrils, undoubtedly over two inches long by now, jut from their dry lawn. They wrap around the dead brush littering the space in front of and behind the eyesore of a dwelling.** _

_**You, like most of the neighbourhood, have never been quite fond of the family. Well… You’re on good terms with their son, Karkat, who happens to be about four years older than you… In addition to that, your father is rather good friends with the the former mobster. Even so, you’re not exactly thrilled about having to go to their house.**_

_**Being who you are, though, you’re still hopeful that their new foster son, Dave, will be more entertaining to you than the father; and, you’re more than willing to give him a chance…**_

Your name is John Egbert.

According to both Jack and your father, _his_ name is Dave Strider. From what Jack has told you, he’s been in the foster care system for most of his life. He refuses to talk and, apparently, is a bit slow to form connections with people. What interests you about him, though, is the fact that you find him sprawled supinely on the dusty floor, playing guitar. Not only is he playing guitar, but he’s playing it _fantastically_. Of course, playing—even with so much skill—the guitar, or any musical instrument, alone, isn’t all that interesting. No, what really intrigues you is the fact that, only minutes ago, you’d been told—or, more accurately, warned—by both your father and Jack, that he’s deaf. You acknowledge that such a fascination is probably on the more negative end of the social acceptability scale, but you can’t help it. You’re fascinated by it—by him.

Now, if only you knew how to introduce yourself. You chew your lip and think; and, a few minutes later, you come up with… nothing. You have no clue what to do. Thus, you decide to follow your instincts.

You wander casually towards him and stand in his line of vision, hoping for him to notice you. After a minute or so without recognition, you prepare to take further action. However, at that point, he seems to notice your presence. He pushes his shades up, lifting the bridge from off his slightly crooked nose, and allows them to rest atop his head. His now-visible red eyes examine you curiously for a moment before they settle on your face.

And you, still following your gut instincts, continue as you normally would. “You’re Dave, I’m guessing?”

He frowns and, after a moment or so, slowly nods. He motions for you to wait a moment; and, you do, watching as he carefully returns the battered instrument to its leather case. Once he’s done, he turns his attention back towards you; then, with index fingers pointed and angled slightly towards each other, he draws a pair of back-to-back circles in the air. The way he moves his hands is remeniscent of the motion of someone pedalling a bike forwards. Both of his thin, blonde brows are raised. From the little you know of sign language, you deduce that he’s asking if you know enough to have a decent conversation.

Even so, your only reaction is to stare blankly at him. By now, most of what you knew of ASL has long since been filed into the darker corners of your memory. After a bit of thought, though, you manage to dredge up enough to at least attempt a response. Raising your brows in a manner similar to his, you point at him. Then, you finger-spell his name.

Not to your surprise, he replies with a quiet snicker of amusement. He rolls his eyes and fishes a worn-out iPhone from his pocket. His thumbs fly across the screen with a speed indicative of familiarity and, after a moment, he flips the phone around to face you. As logical progression would dictate, you read the words typed out on the cracked screen—“ _okay well first of all you asked if my names babe and second of all if you have a pesterchum or something thatd be pretty damned helpful_ ”.

Pesterchum…? The program name is a mixture between familiar and foreign. You do, indeed, have a Pesterchum. However, you haven’t used it in forever. Of course, that doesn’t mean you can’t start using it again…

From your pocket, you pull forth the pen and paper given to you by Jack. You then scribble out your Pesterchum name—ectoBiologist.

Only seconds after you give him the paper, you hear your phone going off. You pull it—an Android smartphone—from your back pocket and tap to direct the device’s attention towards the flashing Pesterchum application.

—turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 11:49—  
TG: okay so first things first lets have our little alcoholics anonymous style introduction  
TG: ill go first  
TG: hello my names dave strider and im addicted to apple juice  
TG: your turn dude

Looking up from your phone, you see no expression on his face. His lips are still in their seemingly natural frown, his brows still relaxed.

EB: um… well… my name’s john egbert and i’m addicted to practical jokes?  
TG: awesome so i have no idea what to talk about so just hit me with anything  
TG: you know come at me bro hit me with your best shot and all that shit  
TG: questions comments concerns and feedback welcome

At this point, a smile threatens to appear on his face. You notice the corners of his mouth twitching briefly into a small half-grin, only to quickly return to their passive state.

EB: okay. i have no clue what to talk about either.  
TG: in that case just go ahead and ask cause everyone does at some point  
EB: ask what?  
TG: all the questions about everything i know you know about me  
EB: oh, yeah. that stuff. well, if you don’t mind…  
TG: i really dont dude just shit it out already before i mix laxatives into your drinking water  
EB: that’s gross, but okay. so… how much can you hear?  
TG: not much i mean if its super loud and right next to me i can hear it  
TG: kinda muffled though but if you blast anything loud and close enough i should be able to pick up on it next question  
EB: wow. but you were just playing guitar.  
TG: as cliché and crappy as it sounds i go by vibration next  
EB: that’s actually pretty cool. at least i think it is.  
TG: thats nice and its also not a question next question  
EB: jesus christ, are you trying to play twenty questions or something!?  
TG: maybe next question

For the first time, his expression changes. A smug grin spreads across his face and, once he notices you looking at him, he winks.

EB: oh my god. um… do you talk at all?  
TG: some but sure as hell not now  
TG: okay that was a little harsh sorry  
TG: i mean i have to be pretty damned comfortable around you to talk so  
TG: if youre really that curious you can try sticking around for a while  
TG: but it probably wont happen today  
EB: oh. okay then. well, i guess i’ve asked you enough about you. i might as well take questions.  
TG: okay then so do you play any instruments  
EB: piano.  
TG: would you be opposed to me referring to you as beavertooth  
EB: yes.  
TG: oh well dammit i wont do that then  
EB: that’s nice. i’d appreciate that.

“John! We’re leaving!” your father calls from upstairs.

You frown, look over at Dave, and rapidly hammer out a message.

EB: we’re leaving now, so…  
EB: i’ll see you later, i guess?  
TG: yeah sounds fine see ya

As you depart, you turn to face him. You notice him offering you a casual nod of farewell and, as you near the top of the steps, the sound of skilfully played guitar meets your ears.


	2. Back to School

**_It’s been two days since you met Dave. Two days since you’ve seen him. It’s been two days of bored idling and, with school restarting itself after the holiday season break, of preparing yourself for the so-called “daily grind”._ **

**_I t’s Dave’s first day at his new school; and, according to Jack, you’re to be his partner throughout the ordeal. After all, of your seven classes, you share six with him (the class you don’t share with him is orchestra)._ **

**_When you showed up to greet him at the bus stop, you were slightly surprised by how prepared he’d been upon arrival. Thrown a bit off by his ostensible arsenal of disorganised school supplies. In addition to his stash of supplies, he also came accompanied by a woman who, if your guess is to be considered, appears to be five or six years your elder. She, according to Dave, happens to be both his interpretor and distant relative._ **

**_Now, however, you’re faced with trying to get Dave through the six classes you and him share. Now, you find yourself sitting at your desk, fidgeting nervously with your pen as he rambles to you about seemingly unrelated things—the dog his last family had, the kid who beat him up in fifth grade, the foggy memories he has of his brother, how he ended up with Rose as a travelling interpretor—the list could go on forever. All the while, familiar, worn-out faces wander into the room; and, one by one, the eyes of these students—some curious, some reproachful, and some utterly amused by it all—fall upon you and Dave… ___**

“You’re sure you’re okay with this, right?” you inquire, watching keenly as Rose translates your words into hand movements. You also invest a good deal of attentive observation to Dave as he responds.

“Of course I an, why wouldn’t I be?” Rose eventually says aloud, further shocking your confused system. While you _had_ prepared yourself in advance for this, it was still quite an odd sensation—to listen to one person speaking for another. You’ve only ever seen it in movies or on the news. In real life, though, it’s a bit surreal—to hear the voice of a twenty-some-year-old female saying the manually communicated words of a sixteen-year-old male. To complicate matters further, you’ve noticed that she tends to add commentary to Dave’s statements. As a buffer to these additional comments, however, she (mercifully) has a habit of dropping her vocal pitch when she’s translating for Dave.

These many things notwithstanding, you manage to gather your baffled thoughts enough to muster a response. “I don’t know… I was just wondering… I mean, we’re getting a lot of weird looks,” You shrug, your eyes locked on Dave’s hands, watching the way they ostensibly flow from one motion to the next.

“I’m perfectly capable of handling myself. Stop being so overbearing, you’re like a god-damned therapist or something.” Rose’s admittedly flat delivery of Dave’s statement fails to properly communicate his frustration. But, the look on his face does. The way his blonde brows furrow, how his movements go from being calm and smooth to choppy and deliberate, make his feelings perfectly clear. “And if the looks are bothering you, you can go away. I’m fine without you.”

“No!” you reply, scrambling to cover your tracks, “I’m not saying that at all. I’m just pointing out that you’re probably going to attract a lot of attention wherever we go—”

He lowers his shades enough to look over them, at you, and raise a brow.

“And that’s a problem?” Rose translates, before raising her vocal pitch just enough to make a noticeable difference. “I’m sorry to intrude upon such a wonderfully friendly conversation, but I’d like to say that, while this statement generally holds true, Dave does tend to get bothered by things from time to time. I’m assuming that he’s riding on the adrenaline of a new school and the possibilities it holds; but, he’ll have to come down from that high, eventually. When he does—and, I do expect that it should be some time tomorrow or Wednesday—I warn you: expect quite a bit of discontent. If you’re fortunate enough, he may even indulge you with the pleasure of regurgitating his long-bottled emotions all over you. Continue.”

You nod slowly, unsure of what exactly to say in response to such an odd spiel, and, eventually, decide upon doing nothing. Instead, you proceed forward with the conversation. “I guess it’s not.”

He reacts to your statement with a contented half-smile. His formerly tense shoulder muscles relax. “Exactly!” He makes as if to continue his statement, only to be interrupted by your teacher’s entry.

**_From there, the class proceeds as normal. The first of the day’s forty five to sixty minute instructional periods goes without incident; and, with Dave, you proceed to the next—Chemistry. Again, the class flies by without a hitch. Again, you continue, this time to an uneventful English class. From there, you and him part ways. You go to lunch, he goes to Spanish. For the first time today, he’s not with you; and, you get a chance to think about everything…_ **

By now, you’ve started to get to know things about him. You’ve begun to recognise little things he does, see how his mind works. You’ve noticed his (thus far) mild forgetfulness and borderline problematic disorganisation.

When he gets sick of having Rose translate, or when he’s wary of her verbose commentary, he’ll write in a battered conversation notebook. Upon meeting new people, he tends to greet them with a casual nod and one of his trademark half-smiles.

At the same time, you’re able to draw some conclusions from such observations.

The precision and ease of his classificatory facial expressions are indicative of him being well-learned in such communicative methods. How he holds himself—mostly upright, yet with a slightly disproportionate amount of weight upon his right side—and his barely noticeable limp seem to point to some sort of past injury.

You could muse forever about such things. You could waste a copious amount of energy pouring over the odd things you have, for some odd reason, noticed about him. However, with the slightly irritating and undoubtedly loud sound of the class bell, you end your thoughtful meditation. You pile your trash onto the thick plastic lunch tray, discard the aforementioned excess, and depart for the next class.

**_The rest of the day goes by seamlessly. French,mathematics and literary studies all go without any incredible disturbance. Nothing, aside from a few curious comments and glances, is truly out of the ordinary; and, by the time the dismissal bell sounds, you’re just as ready to leave as you always are._ **

**_You and Dave leave the school, board your bus, and endure the foul-smelling vehicle for the duration of your thirty minute bus ride home. Upon debarking from the foetid public transport, he goes to his house and, likewise, you go to yours. Homework and chores are performed as usual, and you fall to sleep at a relatively reasonable time._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments or whatever. As said, these are mostly stupid one shots, drabbles, and ficlets...


	3. Snow Day Stupidity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, hot damn. This entire thing is fluffier than Tumblr's fluffy chicken. That's really REALLY fluffy. Dang. Oh well. Enjoy the fluff, I guess?
> 
> I almost forgot to add that, yes, this is me inserting my headcanon (Dave secretly likes stuff like Broadway and classical music) into this. I'm slightly apologetic.

**_You’ve been with Dave for over a week now. To be exact, you’ve been with him for ten days. Throughout this time, you’ve polished up and expanded upon your knowledge of ASL (with Dave’s help, of course). Within these (surprisingly few) days, you’ve managed to figure out enough to have extremely primitive conversations with him (during which he usually mocks your general confusion over nearly everything that has to do with ASL)._ **

**_Thanks to a recent assload of snow, you’ve also had the past two days off. Thus, you’ve gotten to know him better._ **

**_You’re even starting to learn things about him that you never could have imagined. You’re learning things that, according to Rose, he’s never told anyone else before. You’re starting to think of him as the brother you never had; and, while you can’t speak for him, it seems he’s having the same sentiments about you._ **

**_Now, however, you’re in the middle of… Well… Really, you don’t know what’s going on any more. All you know is that he threw a rather icy snowball at you and, in retalliation, you chucked a clod of ice at him._ **

By now, you’re not exactly surprised that Rose has given up on both of you. While you’ve come to realise that, beneath her serious exterior, she’s quite the funloving person, you’ve also learned that she has her limits; and, when you combine with Dave, she hits those limits pretty quickly. She earns points for managing to stay in all of forty five minutes, though. After all, it’s longer than you expected from her.

You and Dave, though. Well… Again, you’re not too sure about Dave. But, speaking for yourself, you’re pretty good for another hour or more of this—slugging snowballs at Dave and cackling like a five year old stealing the entire cookie jar and going unnoticed. You’re content continuing to indulge yourself in the energetic and idiotic snowball/ice clump, which you’ve been engaged in for the past two hours.

And, aside from the five minutes breaks he takes every ten to twenty minutes, Dave seems content with doing the same.

Every now and then, between throwing potentially deadly densely-packed and roughly spherical lumps of snow and ice at one another, he’ll do a bit of quick sign. Rose will then translate it and, while you’re preoccupied, he’ll hit you with another lump of ice crystals.

After about two more hours of such juvenile merriment, you and Dave return inside. Your Dad, his business having closed due to the snow, is quick to prepare hot chocolate for all of you; and, as soon as the delicious winter delicacy is procured, you and him abscond to your bedroom. Having decided that she’d had enough of your tomfoolery, Rose decides to stay and chat with your dad.

**_Not long after you and Dave get to the bedroom, things return to what has become “the norm” for you. Dave half-jokingly shoves you out of your own bed and, assuming your position, directs you to sit in the red beanbag chair you’d intended for him._ **

“Dammit, Dave!” you grumble, mostly to yourself, as you attempt to remove the stubborn, smirking blonde from your bed.

TG: wow john youre just being super rude today  
TG: like  
TG: you could at least say “excuse me but this is not your bed”  
TG: to which ill reply that i dont actually give a flying fuck  
TG: but at least ask before coming at me like that bro  
TG: i mean im not complaining but your hands are dangerously close to my awesome ass  
EB: dammit, dave! this is my bed! you do this every day.  
EB: for once. just ONE TIME. can you let me sit in my OWN BED while you’re over here!?  
TG: hm ill think about that  
TG: shhh  
TG: shhh no no im thinking about it  
TG: thinking and  
TG: no  
EB: fine then! i’ll just join you.

After sending this message, you adamantly drop your posterior onto your bed’s slightly springy mattress. You settle yourself, making sure to splay so that you’re intruding upon his personal space.

EB: hm. now how do you feel? want to give me the bed now?  
EB: give up the mattress ghost?  
TG: okay  
TG: wow  
TG: that joke sucked dude  
TG: it wasnt even ironically funny  
TG: and i actually dont mind  
TG: youre really warm by the way did anyone ever tell you that?  
TG: like this freakish heat youre exudin  
TG: is pretty goddamn confusin  
EB: and if you keep these beats dropping,  
EB: i’ll give your face a good walloping.  
TG: nice one dude youre in touch with your inner poet  
EB: i learned from the best dork there is.  
TG: im so flattered to hear that

You look up at him, watching as he raises his shades to reveal a roll of his eyes.The edges of his mouth turn upwards, forming a smug but friendly grin.

EB: i don’t think you should be. but, okay.  
TG: why shouldnt i feel complimented about being awesome i mean really  
EB: *sigh*  
EB: okay then, dave. okay.  
TG: john i want you to do something real important  
TG: just  
TG: take a deep breath  
EB: wait… what?

At this point, Dave’s smirk grows wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re not quite sure what’s going on in his mind right now, though you’re perfectly fine with that. After all, you wouldn’t exactly want to be in his mind.

TG: take a deep breath, john  
TG: take a DEEP BREATH  
TG: and a sip of champaigne  
TG: open your eyes  
TG: WHAT do you see  
EB: oh my god. dave. stop quoting musicals.  
EB: i don’t even know what fucked up broadway shit this is from.  
TG: youll be so dazzled in the ambience youre in  
EB: dave, what the fuck!?  
TG: come on dude  
TG: you could at least play along  
EB: i don’t even know what this is from! how am i supposed to play along!?  
TG: ugh john youre so uncultured  
TG: youre so uncivilised so far from matured  
TG: and it sure does make me sad  
TG: cause you youve no fuckin clue to be had  
TG: about all of this awesome class  
TG: really i just need to up and educate yo ass  
EB: …  
EB: remind me why i’m your friend…  
TG: because im superfly  
EB: you’re about as superfly as the bugs squashed on the car windshield, dave.

A snort of laughter escapes him and, again, he allows you to see him roll his eyes. He drops his shades and, suddenly, springs to his feet.

TG: and now i must get goin  
TG: but its been nice to be knowin  
TG: that i can always come bug you  
TG: whenever the fuck i want to  
TG: strider out  
EB: what? you’re leaving already?

Your heart sinks a bit. He’s only been in here for thirty minutes or so, and he’s already leaving? Sure, he’s prone to his odd quirks—his weird habit of bursting into either original or Broadway-quoted rhymes, for example—and, yes, you constantly call him a nerd and a dork. But, if you’re being completely honest, you love hanging out with him. You love spending time with him and listening to the wild, outlandish idiocy that tends to leap from his bafflingly complex mind.

TG: aw come on now dude that aint fair  
TG: you cant just pull all that damned sad puppy face every time i leave  
TG: makes me feel bad  
TG: but i hardly got any sleep last night and im fucking tired  
TG: so im going to ignore your stupid sad face and pouting shit and leave  
TG: see?  
TG: im leaving  
TG: i am LEAVING  
TG: farewell  
TG: goodbye friend i am gone

As if to emphasise a point, he allows a loud yawn to escape him. Then, with the middle-finger salute you’ve come to take as a symbol of affection (at least from him), he departs.


End file.
